


The Sound of You

by beckzorz (heckofabecca)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Comfort Sex, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Porn With Plot, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 07:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18069578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckofabecca/pseuds/beckzorz
Summary: After a mission gone wrong, you need to let out some steam.





	The Sound of You

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to @moonbeambucky on tumblr for the prompt (Bucky catches reader singing and she’s embarrassed ☺️), which maybe I didn’t stick entirely to, but OH WELL! Thank you so much also to @goodusernamesarealwaystaken on tumblr for swooping to the rescue and beta reading! And uh… this is my first attempt at full-on smut so… go easy on me XD
> 
> Let me know what you think!

_Thwack_.

The punching bag shudders from your first punch. Tears prick at your eyes, and you growl and swipe them away.

_Thwack_.

Twenty-three hours, and all you can think about is your stunning failure in Belarus. One missed shot had cost four civilian lives, one of them a toddler, two others under thirty. Tomorrow there will be hell to pay and reports to write, but Steve had sent everyone off for the night after the midnight landing at the compound.

As soon as the bay doors open, you’d stalked off to the gym. There’s no way you can sleep the way you are, and at midnight after a grueling mission, you can be sure of having the gym to yourself.

You can scream in peace.

_Thwack_.

You catch the bag against your body, letting the impact shake you to the core. The tremor echoes through you, just like the tremor of the explosion in Mazyr.

You slide to the floor against the heavy bag. Hot tears roll down your cheeks; you bang your forehead against the rough polyester with a whimper.

_Thwack_.

You’re all alone, and you can cry in peace.

You don’t know how long you sob into the punching bag, but by the time you’re done, the bag is stained with the tracks of your tears. Your muscles are still sore from the mission. You’d been too tense to stretch properly on the flight home; all you’d done was sit stiffly in a window seat, your headphones and scowl the perfect deterrents to anyone who might have wanted to approach.

At this point, you’re too tired to even try stretching. All you want to do is wash off the grime of failure.

You groan as you peel off your uniform in the privacy of one of the shower stalls. The fabric clings unpleasantly to your skin. By the time you’re bare, you’re sniffling again.

The hot water is just the sting you need. The steam caresses your face. It’s the closest you can get to comfort; it’s the closest you’ll _let_ yourself get to comfort.

After your failure, after what you caused—

The memory of the splintered bricks and bodies flashes in your mind. You shake your head.

You don’t deserve the comfort of your friends and their words. You don’t deserve the comfort of your lover and his touch. Either would soothe you. Natasha, Rhodey, Sam—any of them would know just what to say. Bucky…

You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, hard enough to hurt. No. You don’t deserve any of it.

All you’ll permit yourself is a hot shower and the quiet refrain of the one song that always soothes you. It’s just a temporary reprieve; you’ll remind yourself of what you’ve done later.

In bed, when you crave sleep, no doubt.

Your voice echoes off the tile walls, small in the wide space. Gentle words, words you learned from your grandmother so many years ago. When you sing it, you can see her face.

In your mind’s eye, she’s smiling at you, her gaze heavy with love. Heavy with forgiveness.

Fresh tears leak from your closed eyes. You can hear the tremor in your voice, but you carry on through it. Here, alone, you can find some modicum of relief.

The final echo fades. You hold yourself tight and try to clear your head. If Steve sees you’ve been crying, in person or on the surveillance cameras…

You don’t want to be benched. You don’t deserve to be benched. The best punishment is out there, in the field, where you can be hurt—

“I didn’t know you could sing.”

You gasp and spin, sliding on the wet tiles. You throw out your hands to steady yourself, but Bucky catches you in his solid hold. He’s as naked as you are, but his body, cool to the touch, is no distraction after the shock of his arrival.

Dread coils in the pit of your stomach. He heard you? You’ve always kept that secret for yourself, after so many others were forced out of you thanks to the job. Every slice of yourself has been examined. This one thing is your own. To have it discovered?

It hurts.

Your face burns as you extricate yourself from Bucky’s hold and shuffle back under the water, turning aside and folding your arms over your chest. His soft gaze is too much; how can he look at you that way after what you’ve done? You can’t bear his eyes on you. Not now. You can’t bear to look at him. Who are you to drink him in?

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Bucky steps under the water; you step back. The faucet digs into your side. You let it. The discomfort is what you deserve.

But Bucky gently pulls you against him. You stiffen automatically and try to push him away. He doesn’t let go.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. He strokes your hair and presses a kiss to your temple. “It’s okay.”

However much you resist, Bucky’s destined to wear you down. He always does. What’s the point of fighting?

You close your eyes, let your tension seep away, and focus on his body against yours. His metal arm warms quickly under the hot water. The rest of him does too. You bury your face in the crook of his neck. With every breath, his heady scent fills your head, leaving you hazy. Your hands creep around his waist and press flat against the planes of his back.

How did he know to find you? You haven’t been sleeping together long—hell, you’ve only been attached to the team for a couple of months. You know Natasha from her SHIELD days, and Sam and Rhodey are friendly as anything, but Bucky was a hard nut to crack. Yet within weeks, he’d sought you out in solitary moments, his hands always finding their way to you.

Like you’re a homing beacon.

And now, it’s just the same. But he hadn’t approached you with lust in his eyes. No, his look had been all soft, all concern, all care. None of the desperate desire that you’d come to expect. Just gentleness and a warm embrace.

How did he know this was just what you needed? The guilt and the grief were gone.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. He’s tall enough that his face isn’t in the shower spray; his eyes are still soft. He flashes a tiny smile and pushes your wet hair back from your forehead.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod and lean back into him. This time, you let your hands slide down to the small of his back, then a little lower. You’re not so tired now.

Bucky hums in the back of his throat, questioning. You press tighter against him, the slick friction on your front sending sparks through you. Heat pools in your belly, your breasts, tight and wanting.

The shower is steamy in a whole new way.

You press kisses along his shoulder until your lips find the pulse point at his neck. You suck a mark into his skin. It’ll be gone by morning, but for now there’s no hiding your imprint.

With a growl, Bucky hooks his metal hand around the top of your thigh and hoists you up against the wall. The breath is knocked out of you. Bucky’s eyes are dark and wild, nothing like the softness of minutes before.

You wrap your legs around his waist. Bucky shoves his other hand between your legs, teasing your clit. Sparks dance through you.

“ _Bucky_ ,” you moan.

You tangle your fingers in his wet hair, anything to ground yourself against the euphoria building in your core.

When his fingers curl inside you, you cry out and rock down into his touch. He’s hard between your legs, faster than you would have thought possible if you hadn’t done this all before. But like every other time, he’s as eager as you.

You force your eyes open and stare at him, panting. His breathing is as ragged as yours, though you’ve barely begun. With every thrust and curl of his fingers, you lose a little more of yourself in his eyes.

When he pulls his hand away, you mewl in discontent.

Bucky chuckles. “Not yet, doll.” He pushes his wet fingers into your mouth, his eyes fixed on your lips. You suck hard and swirl your tongue around his fingertips, mimicking what you’ve done a dozen times to his cock.

And he knows it.

Bucky slams his hand onto the wall by your head and thrusts into you with his usual precision. His bruising kiss eats up your desperate cry. Your eyes flutter shut as you match his hunger with your own, teeth clicking as he snaps his hips into yours.

Your muscles burn anew as Bucky sets a grueling pace. With every thrust, he grunts; his groin grinds against your clit. His metal hand digs into the tender flesh of your thigh. The tiles catch on your spine as you slip up and down the wall. You barely notice. All you can think of is Bucky inside you, Bucky at your lips, Bucky in your hands.

He pulls back from the kiss, but he doesn’t let up his pace. With the little distance between you, your breasts bounce in time with his thrusts. He grabs one and tweaks the nipple, pulling a whimper from you.

His eyes smolder when you finally open your eyes again. “Sing for me,” he rasps.

Your breath catches.

Sing for him?

Unbidden, you tense. Bucky slows to a stop with his cock buried inside you. He reaches out and shuts off the shower. Then he lifts you off of him and sets you on the floor.

Your knees buckle—did he seriously expect you to stand?—and you catch yourself against the wall. The sudden emptiness leaves you aching, and not just physically.

You slide to the floor and look up at Bucky. He’s still hard, his cock red and glistening. But he drops to his knees in front of you, blinking away the animalistic expression.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I—” You clear your throat. Does he really need to talk _now?_ You fight the urge to touch him, or yourself. “I don’t sing.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “You were singing before.”

You scrub your hands down your face. “I don’t—I only sing for _myself_. You weren’t supposed to… It’s not for…” You slap the floor and glare at him, angry at him for your incoherence. “It’s all I have left. You can’t have it.”

“But I want—” Bucky stops himself when you look away. He scoots closer and cradles your face; you look back at him. There’s a sadness there, one you weren’t expecting. “Okay. No singing.”

You open your mouth to question him, but he quiets you with a kiss. Unlike before, he’s all gentleness. His lips are soft as they tease your mouth open.

He breathes life back into you.

In heartbeats, you’re as desperate as before. You push Bucky until he falls back. He grips your hips as you crawl over him. You slide your fingers through your folds and along your clit—yes, you’re still ready—before aligning yourself with his cock. For a moment, you just rub the head against your entrance, teasing. When Bucky growls, his eyes dark with warning, you laugh breathlessly and sink down in a single movement.

Your laugh short-circuits into a loud moan.

“God, so good,” Bucky groans. His metal hand cups your right breast; his other hand is digging finger-shaped bruises into your hip, but you couldn’t care less. You rock down on him, barely moving, but it’s enough to stutter your breathing. When you finally start to ride on him, you plant your hands on his chest and gaze hungrily into his eyes as you moan. He snaps his hips up to meet yours, teeth bared.

“Shit,” you gasp, arching your back. Every slam of his hips sends a jolt of fire straight through your clit. His cock hits every sensitive spot inside you. “Yes, god, yes, Bucky…”

Your face screws up. Shockwaves build in you as you fuck him faster. You press your forehead against Bucky’s shoulder and drag your teeth along his collarbone.

Bucky slows, the disjointed rhythm an unwelcome change. “Let me—fuck—let me look at you,” he begs. He kisses your temple, squeezes your breasts, pushes you up off of him. You still yourself and pout. He groans, eyes bright with—tears? “Please, fuck, fuck me, c’mon, don’t hide from me, doll.”

A rush of heat floods you as you stare down at him, panting. Bucky’s never been this needy before. Desperate for your body, sure, but begging to look at your face?

That’s new. And god help you, but you’re ruined by it.

Slowly, you start to rock back on him. Your nails dig indents into his chest. There’s something different in the air, something charged. Bucky starts thrusting up into you, his right hand slipping down your front to circle your clit.

“Yesss,” you moan. Your eyes almost slide shut, but you snap them back open at the last second. Fire lances through you with every thrust. Every gasping breath is an effort. All you want to do is cum with him. You cup his hand at your clit and push his hand harder against you.

Bucky’s eyes are black and his jaw is clenched tight. His eyelids are fluttering as much as yours, but he keeps them forced open. He keeps his eyes on you.

“Don’t—look—away,” he growls. He pinches your clit and your nipple at the same time and speeds his upward thrusts.

You clench your teeth, vision spotting and your walls clenching hard around him. You can’t move anymore; all you can do is hold yourself up and let him destroy you from the inside out.

Bucky’s thrusts grow sloppy. His hips snap into yours one final time before his cock twitches, warmth blossoming in you as his pulsing pushes you over the edge. You collapse against him with a scream, stars blinding you as you dissolve into pleasure.

You come back to yourself slowly. Bucky’s arms are around you, his softening cock still inside you. His shaky breaths fan your temple. All of your muscles are lax. The wet tiles are cool against your knees; you hook your legs over Bucky’s warmer ones.

The thought of leaving your spot makes you grimace. You burrow further into Bucky’s shoulder. He strokes your hair, and his lips curve into a smile against your temple.

You prop yourself up with an elbow on his chest and gaze at him. His smile dims under your scrutiny.

“What?” he asks, metal hand cupping your cheek.

You shake your head and drop back down. “Nothing, Bucky.” His name is strange in your mouth.

Bucky makes a noise. It’s clear he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t press. All he does is hold you closer. He’s always like this, for some time after, but today it feels strange.

Too much today has gone wrong. You push away the memories of the mission and focus on Bucky. You haven’t forgotten what he said. He wants something from you, but he’d stopped himself.

You’d always thought you were equally satisfied with the strings-free sex—he’s your lover, not your boyfriend, after all—but between that aborted sentence and the begging to watch you…

It’s not safe to discuss while you’re still half-dazed.

Eventually, you disentangle from each other. Bucky helps you to your feet, and you dry yourselves off without touching. Bucky’s eyes linger on you; you look away. Watching him, half-naked as he is, is too tempting right now. It’s not safe. You pull on the spare set of clothes in your locker, muscles burning with every movement.

“Later, Bucky.”

You leave him alone in the showers, not daring to look back.

His name is strange in your mouth. Tomorrow, maybe, you’ll find out why.


End file.
